Probability
by Hellcat-Seth
Summary: Thoughts of Tom Riddle during CoS.


**Authors Notes:** Repost of 'Probability'. I managed to find this in my Spring Cleaning I've just done. 

Uh anyways - Tom Riddle CoS timeline. Repetition and an infallible logic on the part of the diary bound Riddle. 

**Disclaimer:** Not JKR. I'd like to be but I don't think people would be happy with the content if I got control. :P 

**Thanks:** My lovely beta who is currently stuck in the Wap Wap's. *snickers* Haha Georgina! And also due credit belongs to Faith who originally helped me out with this fic when it was first posted. 

~ 

The immortal question of life over death has plagued mankind since the first philosophers posed a threat to organised religion. Death is often the wisest sacrifice one could make for their own beliefs. Life is just the stepping stone into hell. 

The probability of my life outweighing that of Potter's death was a necessary evil. So the people lost a champion - in return they would gain a powerful leader who would teach them the error of their ways. Someone who could perform the tasks that a champion never could, be a political aficionado who could lead his lambs into the light. 

Being merely a shadow of one's former self would have made any lesser wizard cringe in their attempts at their personal second coming, but a lesser wizard I was not. The plan for the demise of the mudblood impostor was infallible. Like de Cartes simple analogy of 'I think therefore I am', the probability of I winning over a child with a lesser lineage than my own was far greater than a mere Gryffindor besting a Slytherin. After all, Salazar had taken everything away from Godric - including the woman he always wanted but could never have. 

All speculation unless one has heard the truth of the matters, and what better source than the prized companion? 

The plan was conceived in a moment of literary brilliance. Pouring one's essence into a book as another factor in the probability ratio was not enough to pertain to a simple goal. There needed to be a catalyst in the equation, a factor which would cancel out the negatives which dared to thwart my hard work. Lucius Malfoy is a smart man and smart men are often led into creating the most cunning of plans. Malfoy's mind was easy to manipulate, he was not one to hide his secrets from his peers. All that was required for my ascendancy was a sacrifice and Lucius knew of the perfect victim. 

A young child, a girl. The youngest girl in a large family. A pureblood with no money. Never had sampled the finer things in life. The voice of Tom Riddle could be like a ray of light in the little beaker of darkness she was shrouded in. Isolation, desolation - how much the two had in common. It would be like the Muggle story of Little Red Riding Hood - the way it should have been. All blood and no woodcutter - or Harry Potter - to save the little virgin. 

Harry Potter, the name was as plebeian as the story, the name appropriate though. A plebeian name for a plebeian child, no mystery involved in the word whatsoever, none of the echoes invoked as a Slytherin name could do so. Slytherin names echoed a power and commanded a presence unlike any other. Each delving a greater leader than the last. He disliked the name Potter as much as he disliked the story he had been told. The story was like a romantic fairy tale gone tragically wrong. His older counterpart, killed for his beliefs by the hands of a boy. It was history romanticised into a nice little package to which the average Muggle loving fool would lap up. The patriarch of the family and his mudblood whore dying as martyrs to their cause. The boy of course, being the final threat to his symposium. 

The boy posed for all he abhorred. The boy embodied himself but the boy had it all and more. The boy symbolised dissent into anarchy. Purebloods mixing with Muggles was a travesty, their spawn not a legitimate heir to their family name in the ancient traditions carried on in the wizarding world. He had no time for the toleration of filth and could not stand idly by as society was watered down to the point where it all began to crumble. As not to be a hypocrite, the blood of Salazar burnt the Muggle taint away. 

Probability accounted for the dirtied blood this young boy contained, the equation finding death as the only viable solution to show the dangerous cascade this one child could bring. 

Probability did factor in the possibility of repercussions, each in a varying degree, but logic did not determine for the death curse to fail. The logistics had a razor sharp flaw in them. 

The boy had lived. 

However, Lucius Malfoy had made sure to cover the basis of the sacrifices involvement to see if a fault could be found. It was my turn to checkmate the pieces after the game had been deployed. 

A simple spell took care of the visual evidence within the diary and the game began to lay itself out. As Malfoy had factored, the girl received the diary. With little lies of persuasion the possession set straight away. The writings of an older council of faith soothed the child into a false sense of security. 

She saw me as the answer to all her trivial little problems. Life's little woes to her were like that of a national disaster to that of a normal person. Twelve year old little girls saw the world as an over exaggeration of themselves. What better prey than one that viewed them self as the centre of the universe? 

"My brothers don't like me Tom, they keep playing tricks on me. Fred and George are so cruel." "People keep teasing me about the way I look Tom. Its not my fault that my parents are poor. Why can't people like me for me? I'm a nice person, doesn't that count for anything?" "I've tried so hard to get Harry Potter to like me Tom. I don't think its worked though. He hated my Valentine." 

The little fool managed to lose me at one point. I landed in the hands of my enemy. When face to face with one's mortal nemesis - it should pay to be as cordial as possible so as not to reveal your full hand. As predicted, the probability of he discovering my true intentions were nil to one. How the boy had managed to get into Hogwarts and not rely on his inner self to decipher the hidden codes within life is truly beyond my comprehension. The most reassuring part of the boy, apart from his naivety, was the imprint of myself that I had left within him. The little brat had somehow managed to siphon part of my power. Without this theft the probability of the boy housing the same strength he does now was great. Like Godric Gryffindor, Harry Potter was nothing special. Just another fool who thought he could wave a wand and lord over everything. 

Going back to the boy's naive perception - the very thought that Rubeus Hagrid could have opened the Chamber of Secrets showed his Gryffindorish stupidity. It was like suggesting that Grindelwald was talked out of his position by Dumbledore. The boy had never mentioned it to me, in fact we had never spoken after he had discovered my version of events, but I felt it in the fragile bond created that one night we spoke. Taking back my power lost was exhilarating. It was akin to reuniting two long lost loves who had waited for each other for so long. Loyalty of magic so-to-speak. 

Then my darling Virginia retrieved me. At first she scolded me and refused to let me back into the special place the two of us shared. The little darling believed I had betrayed her. Told all her secrets to the famous Harry Potter so he and her brother could tease the poor little mite even further. That night I did something that I never thought I would have to do... Plead to a Gryffindor. A necessity however, I needed what she had to offer. Blind to everything due to the fear of discovery, she fell for the insincerity yet again. 

Apologising for trying to dispose of me and the distrust that she had held, I listened patiently - reassuring her when her writing faltered. The only thing I did deny my little pet was my admission of guilt. It took her forever not to trust me, the probability of her weighing the facts clearly enough o see beyond the darkened veil of her life was unlikely - unless my darling had help. In an effort to make amends, I used some of the stories that dearest Ginny had told me and created; works of fiction that even Jules Verne would be proud of. I told her of Potter's misgivings about student life and how he was a poor isolated little boy who deep down was scared to face the world. If she had examined the hidden context then she would have seen through to her own life and tale. 

It was amusing to hear the tale of Virginia Weasley, the thief in the night. Her heart was surely in the right place - to save her soul. Not only had the ability of Parseltongue and the ruthlessness I possessed had been passed over, but also the need for self preservation - her desire so great that I could taste her fear. A more than satisfying experience for my essence. Each person has the cold streak I developed in Ginny, some it just needs to be unleashed upon the world. The beauty of humanity is its ability to be corrupted and the fun I had with Ginny in making her one of the fallen all but fuelled my physical form. 

I outgrew her usefulness as time passed. The shot of my own power that I had stolen from Potter had accelerated my growth to the point where Ginny only needed to hand over a little more of herself and then, like the legendary phoenix, I could rise. Unwittingly she gave what I craved, severing the bond she had created between us made her easy to manipulate. She needed the security my touch created. Devastated at being alone and unloved, she was a pretty little puppet as she did as she was told. Her inner torment bubbled to the surface in the form of pearly tears. Amusing as it was, it rapidly grew mundane. Feeling her torment was a godsend but the verbal outbursts of "Please!" and "No!" made the experience a little less than perfect. Having the little wench stain the wall with a blood farewell and then with an echo of me - she was back to the holy sanctity of Salazar's chamber. 

As she crumpled and I found life, the desire to crush her like a little insect waned. She had been a useful tool after all and perhaps further use could be made from her. The probability of throwing Potter off guard with a live brat rather than a vengeance seeker for the dead was far more promising. If she was alive then there would be the distraction to keep her that way. After all, who saves the dead? 

Although the boy is a fool, the probability of he trying to save the dead from what I have in store for him is highly unlikely. If he was lucky I'd give him a companion into the afterlife. 

Depending on how amusing he was when he died. 

Leaving Ginny on the floor, like a marble statue torn down by the faithless, I turned my attentions elsewhere. Salazar's pet was hungry, starved for the pretty taste of blood. Soothing the beast with promises of virgin flesh, it calmed enough to speak of the past and present. Of Salazar and his legacy. 

The legacy that Salazar had left behind was one of purity. Salazar saw the Muggles for what they were - a viral threat to wizarding society. He saw how many of our kind fell at the hands of Muggles. They were a barbaric society, it was futile to expect them to understand the greatness presented to them. Animals cannot be advanced. Only the rarest of gems can be made to shine, Salazar's children were those gems. His heirs blood defied the laws of probability. Each pulsing beat gave another step to Salazar's path to god hood. 

Gryffindor was the one to bring anarchy into the order. He introduced wizards into Muggle society under the idea that a bond would be created between the two. Salazar watched his disciples burn at stakes, drown and be stoned to death on the principles of harmony. Gryffindor was a fool to ever believe that Muggles would accept wizards in their lives. Ancestor after ancestor were driven deeper and deeper underground as Muggles grew more and more sadistic. Salazar was right to oppose the mixing of cultures, no good had ever come of it. 

This was where the importance of the chamber lay. With the increasing appearance of Mudbloods, Salazar entombed his pet away for the next greatest wizard to appear. The true heir of Slytherin. Salazar knew that only the true heir, a chosen one, would be able to rid the wizarding world of this bane. Five years to a child is an eternity but five years to an heir means nothing. A pity it was to be surrounded by fools. 

Armando Dippet saw me for what I wanted him to see. Perfection. I had charmed him into believing that the little orphan boy with an academic record that would make Machiavelli or even Gallileo envious. Being a model student and a Prefect helped to compound the trust Dippet found in me. Dumbledore on the other hand, was so ensnared in his natural prejudice that his suspicions were based on the truth in all irony. It was a shame that a spineless man like Armando Dippet could bend over backwards for a mere Transfigurations teacher, but not be swayed by the beginnings of greatness. A sad state of affairs when perfection is overlooked. 

Revenge will be sweet and the probability of it coming soon is high. Potter is drawing nearer. The probability of a child doing damage is unlikely. The basilisk shall feed and the fate of the statue that is Ginny Weasley is written in the hand of God. It is Human nature to survive and only the fittest shall overcome. Potter will die - that probability is certain. 


End file.
